Seduced By The Prince's Kiss (Russian Royals 0f Kuban Book 4) Page 3

  He’d only thought the country was torture. London would be a whole other level of private agony. Hell was proving to be a complicated place. ‘We’ll see,’ Stepan said neutrally. He started up the stairs, but Dimitri wasn’t done talking yet.

  ‘How’s business? I heard the Lady Frances came in today. I hope there wasn’t trouble?’ Dimitri was still fishing for the reason behind his distraction.

  Stepan shook his head. ‘Everything was fine, just a lot of paperwork. Seems like there’s more every time.’

  Dimitri gave a snort. ‘In this part of the world, people ignore the paperwork and smuggle it all in.’ He grinned at Stepan. ‘Maybe you should try it some time.’

  Stepan gave a non-committal laugh. ‘Maybe.’ West Sussex was a known haven for smugglers with its access to London roads. One could hardly live here and not be aware of smuggling. But Dimitri had no idea how close to home his remark had hit. ‘I’m not sure how Preston Worth would feel about a smuggler renting out his house.’

  Dimitri shrugged at the supposed conflict of ethics. ‘It would make winters in the country more interesting.’

  Oh, it does, Stepan thought and continued up the stairs before the conversation went any further. Did Dimitri know? Was this his way of feeling out the subject? Stepan had tried very hard to keep the smuggling operation secret. If he was discovered, he alone would bear the consequences. He wanted none of his friends incriminated or used as leverage.

  In his room, Stepan undressed and stretched out on the bed, planning his day. Tomorrow, he’d leave early and spend the day overseeing the unloading of the Lady Frances’s cargo at the harbour in Shoreham. Then, on the way home, he’d stop by the caves and see how the spirit distillation was getting on. That should keep him busy and out of the house and away from Anna-Maria until well after supper.

  Chapter Three

  Ledgers and lading papers might keep him out of the house, but they were not the most entertaining. Stepan pushed back from his desk at the dock warehouse and strode to the window, the room’s one amenity. Below him, the pier was bustling, his men sweating in the cold air as they hauled trunks of cargo from the hold to the warehouse where it would wait for wagons to take it to London. He’d been at the ledgers for hours now. He flexed his cramped hand. His body was begging for physical activity. Perhaps he’d go down and help with the hauling. That would give his muscles something to do.

  He’d just decided it when there was a soft, hesitant knock on his door. ‘Come!’ Stepan answered, watching the dark head of his clerk peer around the corner, still hesitant. Oliver Abernathy was a slim, timid young man, one of his rescued boys from London with a good head for numbers.

  ‘There are gentlemen to see you, milord.’

  Stepan glanced at the appointment diary lying open on his desk. ‘They do not have an appointment.’ Not that they needed one with Abernathy letting everyone who stopped by interrupt his work. The boy might be good with numbers, but he was a terrible gatekeeper.

  ‘One is a military officer, milord,’ Abernathy offered in protest as if being an officer came with the privilege to arrive unannounced.

  There seemed no getting around it. By now, the gentlemen would have concluded he was indeed in. ‘Very well, send them in.’ Stepan surveyed the austere office. ‘On second thought, I will come out.’ He took a last wistful look out of the window. He would not be hauling cargo today. He straightened his coat and went to take care of business.

  ‘Gentlemen! To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?’ Stepan strode out of the office, all smiles and bonhomie, taking each man’s hand in turn with a firm grip. The one man in the blue coat of his station, Stepan knew: Carlton Turner, the customs officer. The other, dressed in a red coat, he did not. ‘I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure, Captain, is it?’ Stepan said, taking in the man’s uniform and noting the gorget. He noted other things, too, like the tight lines about the man’s mouth, giving it a harsh quality that matched the dark eyes. This was not a kind man. Was the harshness simply from the rigors of military life or something else, deeper? Darker?

  ‘Your Highness, may I introduce you to Captain Denning? Captain Denning, this is Prince Shevchenko, lately of Kuban. That’s his ship you’ve been admiring this morning.’ Turner made the necessary introductions. ‘Your Highness, the captain has been assigned to Shoreham on business and I wanted him to meet some of the key importers he’ll need to work with.’

  Stepan did not miss Turner’s deft positioning of the conversation and was immediately on alert. He didn’t mind Carlton Turner. Turner was a stuffy man, always a stickler for protocol, but reasonable beneath the fussiness. Stepan knew how to deal with him. As long as things were shipshape on the surface, Turner didn’t bother to probe deeper. But the man had been around a while; he knew the limitations of his authority. Captain Denning didn’t give the first impression of sharing that understanding.

  ‘I find business goes well with venison pie and ale this time of day,’ Stepan offered with a gesture towards the door. ‘May I invite you both to dine with me? It’s just past noon and I’m famished. The tavern up the street isn’t fancy, but the owner’s wife is a good cook.’ If circumstances were throwing him together with this Captain Denning, he needed to know more about this newcomer and decide if the captain posed a threat.

  Food meant small talk and a chance to size one another up. Stepan kept the captain talking through the flaky venison pie. The man was from Derbyshire in the East Midlands, the younger son of a baron. He’d served against Napoleon in his late teens. But those were just facts. Context was everything and Turner was providing it.

  Turner joined the conversation, clapping Denning on the shoulder. ‘He was relentless, keeping his troops on the field and holding ground against all odds in Spain.’ Turner’s tone suggested the comment was meant as an accolade, but the sharp glint in his eye when he met Stepan’s gaze suggested the remark was meant as more. A caution, perhaps? Until he knew otherwise, Stepan would take it as one. This was a man to whom the goal was all, the price of attaining the goal negligible.

  Denning was ambitious and desperately so. Military work was slow these days with no war to fight. Consequently, advancement was, too. There was little opportunity to prove oneself, yet Denning held on to his commission when others had given up and sold out. Here was a tenacious, canny man who would stop at nothing to achieve his goal.

  Stepan could have dealt with that. He understood officers, his friend Nikolay having been one in Kuban. But that was not the sum of Denning. The captain was more than determined. He was also cold. His determination sprang from ruthlessness, not relentlessness as Turner had couched it. The difference was there at the corners of his eyes where faint, early lines fanned out; there were lines, too, at the grooves at the sides of his mouth. This was an exacting man who drove those around him as hard as he drove himself. Perhaps an admirable quality in an officer on the battlefield, but a dangerous quality, as well.

  Another round of ale came and the plates were cleared. ‘Tell me how I can be of service to you, Captain.’ Stepan gave permission for the conversation to move towards business now that they’d eaten.

  ‘A complement of my men and I will be staying at the barracks on New Barn Lane in order to investigate reports of smuggling and act accordingly should anything be found.’ Denning sat back on the bench, leaning against the wall with satisfaction. ‘I hope you and the other upstanding importers in the area will join with us.’ He gave a cold smile. ‘It’s hardly fair that you pay a legitimate tax on your goods when others do not. Everyone should be accountable to the same rules and I am here to enforce that accountability.’

  Except when those taxes are unnecessarily high, Stepan thought.

  What wasn’t fair was the government placing high taxes on goods and making trade in them prohibitive to all but a small wealthy class who could afford the fees. That wasn’t free trade in his mind. Trade
, the right to do business and make a livelihood should be open to all, not just the prosperous. Outwardly, Stepan gave a cordial smile. There would be time enough to alienate the captain, he thought wryly. ‘Enforce? That sounds like a very menacing word.’ He’d lived under a Tsar who’d also used that word, to his detriment. That Tsar was now dead, shot on the front lawn of his palace by his constituents.

  ‘Of course, compliance would be preferred,’ Turner broke in. ‘If you were to hear of anything, we’d want to know.’

  Stepan gave a neutral smile, aware the captain was watching him. ‘I’ll help in any way I am able.’ It was not entirely untrue. He would just not be very able.

  Then the captain fired his real salvo. ‘Good. If you see or hear of anything I should be aware of, send word to the barracks. I understand Shoreham is a popular landing point because of its access to the London roads. We will be redoubling land patrols, which I think is the best way to catch any activity, and we’ll continue to co-ordinate with the navy to patrol the coastline from the water. With luck, we’ll have the rotters cleared out by May.’ Enforce indeed. The captain was only a step away from martial law.

  ‘Best of luck with that, Captain,’ Stepan replied in all honesty. ‘Gentlemen, if you’ll excuse me, I have ledgers calling my name.’ He made the polite noises of leaving and maintained a sense of affability until he was back in his office. Only then did he let his thoughts run over all he’d learned. The captain had an unenviable task, not only for himself, but for the town, as well. Shoreham would not respond positively to the captain’s methods.

  Smuggling in Shoreham had existed for centuries. It was unlikely the captain was going to curb it in a couple months. But Derbyshire, further inland, wasn’t known for its smuggling routes. What did a land man like Denning know about the culture of smuggling? To root out the ‘rotters’, as Denning put it, would require rooting out whole villages. But that didn’t mean Denning’s efforts could be disregarded. When Stepan met with Joseph Raleigh tonight at the caves, they had some planning to do along with their distilling. If Denning was going to impart information about his troop’s movements, Stepan was certainly going to make good use of it. It was going to be a late night.

  * * *

  What in the world kept a man out this late when he’d already spent the entire day at the docks? The question haunted Anna-Maria with increasing intensity as the hours after supper dragged by. She’d tried to prompt some insight out of her brother as the family had relaxed by the fire, but if Dimitri knew anything, he was close-mouthed about it. Her father had merely glanced up from the newspapers after her third attempt and fixed her with a censorious stare. ‘A man’s business is his own. A woman respects his privacy,’ he said in that scolding tone Anna-Maria knew too well. The man had spent his life reprimanding her when he bothered to notice her at all.

  Evie had softened the harsh words with a smile. ‘Don’t worry about Stepan, my dear. He knows his way home and so does his horse.’

  Anna didn’t bother to correct Evie’s assumption, although it did make her feel a bit guilty. Truth be told, she was not as worried over Stepan’s lateness as she was curious about the reason for it. If the others shared concern or curiosity about Stepan’s prolonged absence tonight, they didn’t show it. They gave up the vigil at half past nine, leaving Anna-Maria with her book.

  * * *

  It was well after eleven when Anna heard Stepan’s horse in the drive. Hurriedly, she sat and picked up the book she’d laid aside an hour ago in favour of pacing the front parlour. Pacing kept her awake. If she read, she might fall asleep and miss his return, miss her chance to badger him about his whereabouts. And he would win. She would not give him the satisfaction of outlasting her.

  Anna selected a random page in the middle of the text and pretended to read. This had become a competition when he hadn’t come home for supper and Evie had held the meal for him, proof that she and Dimitri had not known he’d be so late despite their lack of concern over it. Anna gave her skirts a final fluff as footfalls sounded in the hall. She counted in her head: one, two, three steps until he’d pass the doorway to the sitting room. On cue, Anna lifted her head with slow surprise as if she was only just now aware of his presence. She managed a polite smile. ‘Oh, you’re home.’

  Stepan leaned against the door frame, looking somewhat less stoic than usual. His hair was damp and tousled from night-riding, his greatcoat undone, and his eyes were...softer...instead of their usual hard granite. Tonight, they were like quicksilver moonbeams. ‘You waited up for me, Anna-Maria.’ He smiled. He never smiled unless provoked to it. And he smelled faintly of alcohol.

  That’s when she knew. ‘Stepan Shevchenko, you’re foxed!’ Anna rose in chagrin. She’d waited up for him and he’d been out drinking and who knew what else!

  ‘I wouldn’t say “foxed” exactly, Anna-Maria. More like “a trifle disguised”, as our friends the English would say,’ He gave her a wide grin. ‘I’ve been drinking with the customs officer and his friend, Captain Denning. You should see the shape I left them in.’

  ‘Well, they didn’t have an hour’s ride in the dark,’ Anna chided. But she was secretly mollified. He’d spent the day at Shoreham, doing paperwork regarding his shipment of Kubanian knick-knacks and drinking with customs officers. Still, it didn’t explain where he went every day. ‘I suppose this means you’ll be at home tomorrow, then,’ Anna said with sweet nonchalance. Ships didn’t come in all the time and neither did paperwork. Surely he’d taken care of all those administrative loose ends today with the hours he’d put in.

  ‘Oh, no.’ Stepan pushed off the door frame. His body language said he was heading upstairs. Leaving her. ‘I’ve got to arrange for the cargo to go to the London shops and the private buyers. I’ll be busy for days yet. You’ll be lucky to see me at dinner.’

  Something inside her deflated. Dinner was more exciting when Stepan was there to talk politics with her brother and father. It diverted her father’s attention away from her. ‘Men have all the fun.’ She pouted. ‘I’m bored, too, you know. I’d like to get out of the house for hours.’ An idea struck and she brightened. ‘Take me with you. I have a fair hand. I can record items for you and I love seeing all the pretty things that come in.’

  Stepan shook his head. ‘The docks are no place for a young lady. Dimitri and your father would never allow it, especially with your debut coming up so soon. Besides, you can look at the pretty things right here at home.’ He reached inside his coat pocket and brought out a brown paper–wrapped package.

  She took the package with delight. For a moment, she forgot to be mad at him. ‘For me?’ She unwrapped it and lifted out the small trifle box with its carefully painted lid. It was done in ice blues and lavenders, depicting a snowy Russian lake scene. She smiled. ‘It reminds me of the lake at our winter home.’ She seldom thought of Kuban fondly. Her life there had been...mixed, not all of it pleasant. There were plenty of bad memories to go with the good. But most of the good memories centred on the Petrovich winter estate. She put the box down on a side table and looked up at Stepan. He was so very tall up close. ‘Do you remember the ice-skating parties? How we would drink hot chocolate from the samovar on the lake bank? The deer that would come down to the edge of the ice?’ In her enthusiasm, she reached for Stepan’s hands and drew him out to the centre of the room with her. ‘Do you remember how you used to spin me?’

  She was twirling now, taking him with her in her whirlwind of a circle. ‘We’d lean outwards and throw our heads to the sky as we spun!’ Anna laughed, tossing her head back.

  ‘Hush, Anna! You’ll wake the house,’ Stepan scolded, tugging at his hands. She let go, her smile fading.

  ‘You used to be more fun, Stepan. At least slightly. I wouldn’t go as far as to say you’ve ever been a load of fun.’ She could scold, too.

  ‘We all used to be a lot of things.’ Stepan bent his dark head in a stern, d
eferential nod, part reprimand, part apology. ‘I beg your pardon. It was not my intention to ruin your fun. Goodnight, Anna-Maria.’ He squared his shoulders and walked past her, out of the room.

  Anna stomped her foot on the carpet where no one could hear. She hated when she did that, when she drove him off in her stubbornness because she had to have the last word. She spied the box and snatched it up. ‘Stepan,’ she called softly, stopping him on the stairs. She waited until he turned and she had his full attention. ‘Thank you for the gift, it’s lovely. I’m sorry.’ She wanted to say more. She was sorry for running him off, for always challenging him. ‘I don’t know why I do it,’ she lied. She knew. She did it to needle him, to jar him out of his stoic reserve in hopes of seeing what lay beneath all of that, although why it should matter so much to her, she didn’t know.

  Stepan nodded. ‘It’s nothing more than winter megrims, Anna-Maria. We’ve all been indoors too long.’

  Not you, she wanted to argue, but she caught herself in time. Arguing would get her nothing. ‘You’re sure I can’t come with you tomorrow? Father and Dimitri won’t mind if they know you’re there to protect me.’ She didn’t think that was entirely true, but Stepan could persuade them if he wanted to.

  That was the problem. He didn’t want to. He all but ignored her request, his voice quiet and strict as he continued up the stairs. ‘I don’t think it’s a good idea, Anna-Maria.’ So much for getting him out of his stoic reserve.

  Anna crossed her arms. Fine. She’d come up with a better idea, anyway. He hadn’t said she couldn’t come, just that she couldn’t go with him. He’d said nothing about following along behind. A plan took shape. It would be easy enough to do. Evie and Dimitri were taking the baby over to Claire and Jonathon Lashley’s for a day of visiting. Her father was going along, too. They would leave in the morning. She’d have the day to herself. It would be the perfect opportunity for a little unsupervised adventure.